Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Author's note: Takes place in season 7, after episode 703 but before 704. Imagine that episodes 625 (the proposal) through 703 (Phoebe's cookies) happened one right after the other in the last half of May. This story, therefore, takes place in the imaginary "Friends" summer of 2000. Phoebe is living with Chandler and Monica, Rachel is living with Joey. Rachel has not hired Tag.
And a huge thanks to Jjaks. I can't begin to give him enough credit for his help with this story.
Monica couldn't believe it had come to this. He'd left.
She sat heavily on her bed, tears flooding her eyes, staring blearily at the closed door. She looked around her room, their room, pieces of their lives together sitting on the night stands, nailed to the walls, tucked in corners. His alarm clock sat next to her hand lotion. His dirty tennis shoes brushed against her beach sandals. She didn't bother turning around, but she knew that behind her, perched under the lamp on his side of the bed, was a framed picture of them.
It hadn't been easy to make this place belong to both of them. It had been solid Monica territory when he had moved in, despite years of living with Rachel. She hated to forfeit her space. At first she'd made small concessions. Closet space. A drawer in the bathroom and a shelf in the medicine cabinet. A magazine rack by the couch. His chair.
But before long he had crept into every part of her daily life. He'd bought a new stereo, and often left his favorite CDs on the coffee table. He'd taken over an entire bedroom closet. One day she had come home to find her bags of expensive gourmet pasta pushed behind boxes of instant macaroni and cheese in the kitchen.
And now the two lives were inseparable. Even if she wanted to, she doubted she could pack him up and kick him out and manage to get rid of everything that was his. The lines were too blurred. Something would always be left behind. A sweatshirt or a CD. And if she kicked him out and packed up his stuff, he'd manage to take something of hers with him. Even if she was careful. He'd pick up the wrong pair of socks or one of her novels. They were linked by nearly everything, every item, every object in their home.
She wondered when they had reached this point, when there was no turning back.
They had become engaged nearly two months ago. That had been the most difficult and the most wonderful time of her life. She had never felt so terrified, so uncertain, and so absolutely confident in her future at once. She thought now that perhaps Richard's intrusion in their lives then had been a good thing. It had forced them to turn toward each other so forcefully that not a doubt had been left in her mind that he was it. He was the one. Not a doubt.
But their lives had become impossibly entwined even before his proposal. That came from years of friendship, from years of seeing him every day. He knew all about her proudest moments and her greatest shames, because he had been there, firsthand, for most of them. He had been with her to celebrate. Or he had stayed behind to cry with her. And there had always been a lot of laughter, even in her darkest moments.
Her darkest moments. He knew all about those. Too bad the sharing hadn't been mutual. She hadn't known of his dark times, times that she couldn't imagine enduring, times that made her own bad memories seem insignificant. She wondered how he had managed to come so far in his life with those dark memories weighing him down. She wondered how he had managed to keep it all from her.
And she wondered now how they had arrived at this point, with her sitting in their room, surrounded by their life, alone.
Monica wiped angrily at the tears that had started running down her face and pushed herself off of the bed. She was being overly dramatic. What was she going to do next? Look through old photo albums and love letters? It wasn't as though he had moved out. It wasn't as though they had broken up. Not yet. This was still their home and their life together. Chandler would be back.